


To Get A King

by ladyamesindy



Series: Of Templars and Kings [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4184817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyamesindy/pseuds/ladyamesindy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The King is dead.  Long live the king.  King Maric has gone missing and is presumed dead.  The crown should, by rule, pass to his son, Cailan.  However, rumors of promises and oaths made in secrecy suggest that King Maric had other plans in mind ....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is an AU – an idea I had years ago but never got around to writing. More recently, I shared it with a few others and the spark of interest in writing it surfaced again.  
> The premise is this: What if Bryce Cousland became King of Ferelden after King Maric disappeared instead of Cailan?  
> The initial spark came from the game itself back when I first played it in 2009. Of late, I began to wonder how it could have happened and under what conditions. What would he have known going in? What would he have found out later? How did others react? And (trust me!) a ton of other questions that I hope to answer with this three part series.  
> Given some of my other stories I’ve written, it may come to no surprise that I am a big fan of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland. The idea of seeing them in this role began to tempt me probably more than was good, and so here we go! This story is in three parts. This first part is called “To Get A King.” Part two will be called, “Heavy Weighs the Crown.” Part Three will be called, “Blood of Kings.”  
> I hope you enjoy my little foray into the wonderful land of “WHAT IF?!” as much as I have!

For all the solemnity that such a moment should call for, the pervasive atmosphere of the room was far less severe than one might have expected.  After all, according to the parchment lying before them on the desk, just about three-quarters of the nobility of Ferelden had, in theory, just committed treason.  In practice, it was a move designed to bring long lasting security to a country only twenty-five years removed from chaotic and despotic occupation.

Now, if they could only convince the remaining participants involved that this was the right course of action.

“The king is gone,” a voice droned somberly. “Long live the king.”  No one else made comment.  Really, there wasn’t any need.  King Maric Theirin had been missing for months now; the country mourned, as expected, but they needed someone to rule, someone to guide them through such dark times.  There were some among the higher ranking nobles, who still insisted that Maric yet lived since a body had had yet to be found, but almost to a one they understood that until a new ruler was chosen and officially coronated, the country was vulnerable to attack - from within and from without.  With the defeat and removal of the Orlesians still an ever present and still sour echo in many of the minds of the people, they needed someone with strong leadership abilities to guide the way.  Someone in whom King Maric had placed his hopes should such a disaster befall Ferelden during his absence.  Someone who _knew_ the potential dangers presented by neighboring countries with wandering eyes.  Someone who was _not_ the expected successor.

“But will he do it?” a voice asked warily, slightly subdued.

“He will have no choice,” replied another, firm and resolute.

“No,” a younger voice spoke as he stepped to the table and lightly ran fingers along the edge of the parchment - he had been been the instigator of this moment and as such, designated the messenger for the next part of the task.  “He will have the choice.”

“But, Teagan -!”

Teagan Guerrin, bann of Rainesfere, brother to the Arl of Redcliffe and brother-in-law to King Maric shook his head.  “If Teryn Cousland refuses the crown, we will give it to Cailan and hope for the best,” he reminded them all.  “To force it upon the teyrn would make us as bad as the Orlesians and is not what King Maric would have wanted.”  As a child, he’d been exiled to the Free Marches during the Occupation to keep him safe, but Teagan still had memories of those years.  Had heard others’ stories.  Knew the reputations of combatants on both sides of the rebellion.  

“By signing such a decree,” another pointed out, “we already break our own laws!”

“Not true.”  This voice, higher than many of the others, pitched louder than the rest, had everyone turning to face its’ owner as she stepped to the front of the room.  Bann Alfstanna Eremon of Waking Sea was new to her position, having taken over after her father’s recent death, but she was as steady and smart as they came, and had been one of the first to whom Teagan had turned with his idea.   It was not a deposition of a king as such, he’d explained, but rather a realignment of power to guarantee the safety and security of their country.  And since the idea had originated from the lips of the prince himself ….

“As a body, it is within our power to override the king or queen of this land if we feel it necessary,” Alfstanna explained.  “It is rare that we have ever chosen to do so, but it is within our rights.”  Turning to face the rest as she stepped beside Teagan, she added, “Plus, we have a mandate from King Maric himself.  Even he understood the situation, should something happen.  Cailan is, by blood, the rightful heir to the throne, that is true, but he is ill prepared for this responsibility.”

“What of his impending marriage to Anora Mac Tir?” another challenged.  “She could -”

“Do you wish to pin the survival of our country on the hopes that she could change Cailan’s behavior?” Alfstanna retorted.  “We can hope and wish all we like, but as the saying goes, ‘If wishes were horses ...’”  There were a few soft chuckles of amusement at the comparison as still, so many years after the end of the Occupation, horses in Ferelden were such a rare commodity.  

“My lords, my ladies,” a new voice spoke up from the shadows on the far side of the room, “I promise you, this is not a decision that will be made lightly.”  Stepping forward until the light of the fire cast a glow upon him so that the others could see and recognize, Fergus Cousland made his presence known.  “While I do not speak _for_ my father, I can tell you that he and King Maric were friends.  Before the king departed for Wycombe, he and my father and Teyrn Loghain spoke together.”  He surveyed the room, pausing to stop and catch each and every gaze of the men and women assembled there.  “And while my father will likely protest the need for this action, in the long run, I believe he will accept the mandate as promised.”

Voices rumbled softly, mixing, tangling, fighting to speak over one another, until finally one voice rose above the rest to argue, “Why should we believe you?  If I were to say that you are in this only in it to gain a teyrnir, I would be speaking for more than half the people present!”

“Now that is uncalled for!” Teagan roared, anger rising as he silenced the grumbles filling the room.  His brow narrowed while he searched the gathering for the speaker.  

“That is a fair question,” Fergus replied, stepping further into the center of the room, waving Teagan’s protests off, “but one that proves you do not know me or my family at all.  Am I next to inherit the teynir?  I am my father’s oldest child, so, logically speaking, yes, I am the heir.  However, you will notice that I did not put my name onto this document in support of it.  I currently have no noble standing other than as the teyrn’s son.  The decision to offer the crown of Ferelden to my father is yours to make, not mine; just as the decision to offer the teyrnir to me will be the decision of those banns and arls who look to Highever for guidance.  All I can tell you is that if it is offered to me, I will accept if it.  But as of right now, it has no interest to me whatsoever as a part of this discussion.”  He moved around the room some more, weaving his way through the crowd.  “My father made a promise to King Maric, a sworn oath that he would abide by the king’s request, though he did try to dissuade him from that decision in the first place.  Your official petition, as attested by this document,” he gestured towards the desk, “will be enough of a reminder to him of that promise.”

Alfstanna spoke up again.  “We have completed our task, my lords and ladies.  The next step now lies with Teyrn Cousland.  When we gather together in the Landsmeet later in the week, we shall have our answer.”

There were a few more grumbles as those gathered began slowly to depart as they had come in groups of twos and threes, but there were no more open challenges.  Still, a few of those from whom Teagan and Alfstanna knew they had firm support lingered, their presence a reminder that they were in this together.  Eventually, the room was emptied until only Teagan, Alfstanna and Fergus remained.

“Well,” Fergus announced, stepping over to join his friends, a small smirk playing across his features, “ _that_ was bracing!”

Teagan, now that they were alone, managed a laugh as he clapped his hand against Fergus’ shoulder.  “You, my friend, have a gift for understatement!”

Fergus snorted.  “And here I thought it was for the obvious.  I must be getting rusty!”

“Or married life is distracting you,” Alfstanna teased.  Then, “How is Oriana?  And Oren?”

Fergus beamed at mention of his wife and son.  “They are well, thank you.  With Oren still so young, they opted to remain in Highever for this meeting of the Landsmeet,” he explained.  “However, depending upon the outcome of events started here this evening, I hope you will consider coming to Highever for a visit.  I know Oriana would be delighted to see you again.”

Alfstanna nodded.  “I would be honored to visit with her again,” she replied.  Reaching over, she lifted the parchment and rolled it up, handing it over to Teagan.  “Would you like for me to accompany you?” she asked, turning the discussion back to the topic at hand.

Teagan shook his head.  “No, this is something I will do alone.”

“Not so alone,” Fergus reminded his friend.  “I happen to be staying with the man myself, you know.”

Teagan grinned.  “Of course.”  Turning back to Alfstanna, he added more seriously, “Though I do not expect much trouble to arise from this until we hold vote at the Landsmeet, be on alert.  There were some notable faces absent from tonight’s meeting.”

She nodded her reply.  “I picked up on that as well,” she told him.  “And do not worry - Ser Garner is waiting right outside with an escort to see me home.”

Both men watched her leave and waited a few minutes before their own departure.  No sense in causing unnecessary connections between themselves and Bann Alfstanna for those in the crowded common room of the tavern.  The scandal to be caused at the Landsmeet later in the week would likely have people thinking back, re-examining what they ‘knew’ and had ‘seen’ over recent days.  ‘The Game’ might be the national sport of Orlais, but gossip certainly filled that role in Ferelden at times.  

After a good ten minutes, Teagan finally nodded towards Fergus.  “Let’s go.”  Their concern of people witnessing them together in the Gnawed Noble was less than minimal.  It was a well known and accepted fact that Bann Teagan Guerrin was a good family friend of the Couslands.  On many an occasion, he had met Bryce or Fergus or other members of the family for meals or drinks and conversation in the tavern.  Their departure this evening would hardly be anything noteworthy.

Once they were outside and on the streets of Denerim, Teagan asked, “Do you think this will work?”

Fergus nodded as he shrugged deeper into his cloak to escape from the bracing winter winds blowing in off the Amaranthine Ocean.  “You know my father almost as well as I do,” he reminded his friend.  “He is a man of his word.  If indeed he promised King Maric that he would follow through with this, he will.”

Teagan sighed.  “That is the weightier question, isn’t it?” he mused.  

“Whether he actually made that agreement, you mean?”

“Yes.  The only source we have for that is Cailan,” Teagan pointed out.  “Neither your father nor Teyrn Loghain will comment on it.”

“As I understood things,” Fergus explained, “only Maric, my father, and Loghain were actually at that meeting.  I have heard the rumors, as have you, of promises made by my father and Teyrn Loghain to uphold the agreement if indeed it came to pass.  But ….”

Teagan’s lips pressed tightly together.  “But, rumors are rumors until proven otherwise, I know.”  He sighed again.  “And when I spoke with Cailan, I could not tell if he _knew_ for a fact, or if he was just repeating those same rumors.  He was … less than coherent at the time and more than a little distracted.”  Shaking his head, he shrugged.  “I guess we'll find out shortly.”

Several minutes passed in silence as they walked, tracing familiar paths to the Cousland estate in the capital city.  They were within a couple of blocks distance when Fergus pointed out, “You and the others take a great risk by signing your name to that document.”

Teagan, to his credit, smiled.  “As you stated earlier, knowing your father for as long and as well as I do, there are certain presumptions I am willing to risk.”

“Your life?” Fergus challenged.

Teagan side-glanced his friend as they strode through the gates.  “Our friendship,” he countered.

Chuckling, Fergus replied, “Alright, you got me there.  I’ve rarely if ever seen you presume upon your friendship with him, so I am willing to bet he will at least listen to you.”

“Good to know,” Teagan replied, following up the steps as Fergus led the way inside.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

There were times when Bryce Cousland much preferred being back at his home in Highever than his estate in Denerim.  Preparing for the Landsmeet - especially one as important as the upcoming meeting - was one of them.  It wasn’t so much because of issues with the city or more frequent and occasionally unexpected visits by friends and other nobles - those things were a natural part of living whenever they were called to gather in the capital city.  Dinners, parties, balls, formal gatherings of many sorts disguised as entertainment and hiding more subtle and official activities behind the scenes.

No, where Bryce was concerned, his preference for Highever was purely his own eccentricity.

Truth be told, he favored his private study back in Highever over the one he had in Denerim.  Larger, airier, more open room in which to pace, his favorite and most often referenced books nearer at hand.  The study in Denerim left him feeling felt cramped.  Closed in.  Caged, even.  None of the books he referenced frequently were within easy reach (most of those he relied upon back home had copies in the Royal Palace library, of course, but that was blocks away from here).  There was only one window to open in this room instead of the three back home and it did not offer the fresh breezes from the Waking Sea, leaving Bryce to almost always feel as if he was suffocating.

A soft chuckle at the doorway caught his attention and Bryce spun around, papers in hand.  His wife, leaning against the doorjamb with arms crossed, a semi-mischievous tilt to her lips and a matching sparkle in her eyes, stood there eyeing him.  Bryce breathed in sharply, the image before him dropping twenty plus years and reminding him of their early days together, and of why he’d fallen so deeply for her.  Some days still, it amazed him that Eleanor had said yes to his proposal.  

Setting his papers aside on his desk, Bryce managed a somewhat believable (at least, he thought so) scowl as he stalked over to stand before her.  She was shorter than he, yet he knew she was quite the capable fighter in her own right.  It was one of the many things that he found so amazing about her.  “And what do you find so amusing, my dear wife?” he groused.

Eleanor, ignoring his attempt at severity, simply lifted a hand to his cheek, patting it gently.  “There, there, my darling,” she murmured, the impish flash in her eyes sparkling brightly.  “We will be heading back to Highever soon enough.”

His hand rose quickly, capturing hers gently, but instead of dropping it to her side, he turned it so that he could press a gentle kiss to the knuckles.  She laughed softly, but he felt her pulse jump just beneath the skin of her wrist as his lips brushed against her skin, heard the barest hint of a soft sigh as a reply to the touch.  “It won’t be soon enough,” he countered.

Leaning up on her toes, Eleanor nearly reached eye-level with him.  She tilted towards him, ghosting a quick kiss across his lips even as she heard steps approaching from the hall behind her.  “It could be worse, you know,” she murmured, winking at him.  Bryce’s groan of acknowledgement in response was enough.  This was a conversation that they’d had repeatedly over the years.

Turning from her husband, Eleanor spotted her son and Teagan coming to a halt a respectful distance from them to give them privacy.  Chuckling to herself, Eleanor patted Bryce’s arm and took a step away from him.  At least, it was a suggestion of privacy.  That in itself was appreciated, though the privacy itself remained elusive.  “I am guessing your visit at such a late hour is not meant for me, Teagan,” she announced by way of greeting as she stepped towards the pair.  

Teagan’s smile was as charming as always, Eleanor noticed as he bowed.  “If I promise to return at a more respectable hour, will your Grace forgive me?” he asked.

“Only if you bring Alfstanna with you and you both come for dinner of an evening,” Eleanor replied before turning towards her son.  As always, when she caught him at just the right angle, Eleanor was reminded of Bryce in his younger years.  Fergus took after his father more; their daughter more the spitting image of Eleanor.  Her heart jumped with motherly pride at seeing her son doing so well for himself.  Still ….  Brow raising just a bit in question, she teased, “Out awfully late this evening, aren’t you, darling?”

Fergus, as always and because he knew the game she played, rolled his eyes and made a disgusted sound.  He did not need to reply; his mother’s amused laughter as she leaned over to hug him was more than enough.  

“I will leave you three to your business then,” she told them, flashing one last, quick look over her shoulder at her husband who smiled and nodded.

Shaking his head, Bryce greeted his son and friend.  “Your mother,” he told his son with a smile, “will never change.”

Fergus grinned now that she had departed and could not see it.  “Thank the Maker for that,” he agreed wholeheartedly.

Leading the pair into his office, he said, “Since you did not deny your mother’s observation, I am assuming your business is with me.”

“You would assume correctly, your Grace,” Teagan replied even as he and Fergus moved to take seats across from Bryce.  

Bryce blinked as the mood in the small study took on a decidedly more serious note.  “‘Your Grace?’  Teagan, you of all people know that such formality isn’t necessary, especially in such an informal gathering as this.”  

Fergus remaining silent beside him, as Teagan knew he would, the Bann leaned forward and pulled the rolled up document from his pocket.  He did not hand it over just yet, but traced his fingers along the edge of the parchment.  He stared at it while replying, “Given the nature of my visit, your Grace, I believe the formality to be quite in line with expectations.”  Politics was hardly his forte, that was more his brother’s area of expertise than his own, but Teagan did exhibit the occasional flare of brilliance at times.  Doublespeak was a necessary tool in such activities and a skill Teagan had been working to improve during his years as Bann.

Bryce glanced over at his son whose expression appeared to be held in careful neutrality.  Fergus, it seemed, had opted to not become directly involved.  Curious.  “And what might those expectations you have be?” he asked while turning his full attention to Teagan.

The Bann sat forward in his chair, forearms resting across his legs as he spoke.  “Oaths that were taken and promises that need fulfilling,” he replied.  Taking a deep breath, Teagan shook his head once as if dismissing something.  “Bryce, you and I have been friends for a long time.  Normally, I would hold to proper etiquette, but I suspect you will understand that it is best to be absolutely clear at this point.  I hope you will forgive my presumption upon our friendship in the process.”

Bryce nodded and smiled.  “Consider it forgiven,” he agreed.

Teagan rose to his feet, turning to face Bryce.  Using his free hand to clap onto Bryce’s shoulder, the other he used to place the document into his hand.  As he did so, his eyes met the older man’s, holding firm.  “I hope you can say that after reading this.”  Sighing, his tone changed slightly to something more serious.  “It is time to honor your promise, my friend.”

Brows creasing in confusion, Bryce glanced from Teagan over to Fergus briefly, then down to the document in his hand.  Breaking the seal, he opened it and walked across the room near the fire so he had light to read it.  The move now placed Fergus between Bryce and Teagan, a move that Fergus did not fail to miss, and he rose to his feet, moving to stand closer to Teagan in silent support.  He kept his eyes upon his father’s face; knew exactly when Bryce reached the bottom of the page.  He saw the resistance take form immediately in the way that his father’s back stiffened, though he kept his gaze locked onto the document.  And still, Bryce said nothing.  Fergus exchanged a quick glance with Teagan before he spoke.  “You have always taught me and Elissa that a Cousland should always do their duty,” he announced quietly.

That brought Bryce’s eyes up, locking with his son’s.  “There is a difference between -”

“Is there?”  Fergus countered quickly.  Rarely would he cut his father off in such a manner, he had too much love and respect for the man to behave that way.  But he had already thrown his dice and seen how they rolled in this matter, and it was imperative his father understood.  “You made a promise, did you not, Father?  A promise to king and country?”

Bryce scowled, half tempted to toss the document into the fire and let it burn to ash, no proof of such treason remaining.  “Fergus, you know not of which you speak.”

“Actually,” Teagan broke in, taking a step towards the teyrn, “we do.  The king shared the information before his departure.”

Sighing, Bryce turned to face him.  “With you?” he demanded.  “I think not!”

“No,” Teagan granted, “with his son.  Cailan is the one who told me.”  

Bryce sniffed his view of that.  He would have pointed out the obvious - Cailan’s shortcomings and the several reasons by which he claimed he was ill fit to be king - but that would only serve as fuel for the fire in Teagan’s arguments, and Bryce was not about to help him start it.  “You were not there,” he insisted.  “You do not know the circumstances nor the conditions.”

“And yet you do not deny that the promise was made, Father,” Fergus pointed out.  

_You are your father’s son_ , he thought, groaning softly and looking away for a moment.  Bryce knew he had only himself to blame for Fergus’ skill at finding the strengths and weaknesses in an argument.  “The conditions have not been met.”

“I disagree,” Teagan broke in.  “The king is missing, presumed dead after all this time. Ferelden needs a strong ruler.  You promised King Maric that you would take on those duties if anything happened to him.  What other conditions are there to meet?”

“I promised to make sure the country remained strong under the rule of a new king!” Bryce countered vaguely, irritation clear in his tone.  

“Do you honestly believe that Cailan can keep the country strong, Father?” Fergus asked.  “You know as well as we do that his interests do not lie with the throne!  He openly admits as much himself!”  

Before Bryce had a chance to speak, Teagan added, “And when I spoke with him about this, he was adamant that he would prefer you take the throne and rule so that he could follow his ‘own path.’”

Bryce snorted.  “His own path?” he challenged.  “He is the heir to the throne!  What other path is there for him?”

“He wishes to join up with the Ferelden Wardens,” Teagan clarified.

“And what of Anora?” Bryce asked.  “I suspect she, and Loghain for that matter, might object.”  That Anora had her sights set upon the throne of Ferelden was clear to any who had ever encountered her, and she certainly was more prepared for the position than Cailan.  Bryce had hoped by now that they would have produced an heir, or at least have one on the way, and that his promise to Maric would now be, moot but the Maker had not seen fit to guide them down that road.

“Was Loghain not there with you when the promise was made?” Fergus demanded.  “You swore to Maric, as did Loghain, that you would do this, and as long as I have known you, I have never seen you break your word once it has been given!”

“You have the support of the Bannorn,” Teagan reminded him, nodding at the parchment still in Bryce’s hand.  “You have always shown yourself to be a decent and just man in a position of power and authority.  Why else would Maric ask _you_ to make such an oath?”

Sighing, Bryce turned away from them both and crossed over to his desk where he set the parchment.  With his back to them, he ran his hands over his face and took a moment to think ….

 

~ n ~

 

_“Bryce, I need your word,” Maric announced suddenly and out of the blue._

_Startled, Bryce glanced over at his friend.  They stood above the cliffs in Highever, the waves of the Waking Sea crashing to shore beneath them as they walked.  Looking over at Loghain, the third of their party, he raised a brow in question, but his fellow teyrn simply shrugged his shoulders indicating he had no idea to what Maric was referring.  “You know you have it, your Majesty,” Bryce replied after another moment.  His eyes found the king’s again.  “But can you tell me what it is I have just sworn to do?”_

_Maric chuckled softly for a minute, his face lifting into the gentle breeze.  Then, turning, he announced, “Should anything happen while I am away, I want your promise that you will rule Ferelden in my stead.”_

_Bryce froze, eyes widening.  “You want - but Maric, I cannot!  Do not ask this of me!  The throne is for Cailan and his heirs!”  His gaze jumped between the king’s and Loghain’s.  To his credit, Loghain seemed as startled as Bryce by this request._

_“We three know that Cailan is not prepared to rule Ferelden,” Maric pointed out, “and it is beginning to look as if the Theirin line will not continue.”_

_“Cailan will manage,” Loghain interjected.  “And with Anora -”_

_Maric shook his head.  “No.  This is a battle I have been fighting against for years,” he continued in a somewhat resigned tone, “but the inevitable is now very clear to me, now more than ever.  I cannot in good conscience leave the country in Cailan’s hands.  We are barely out of the shadows of Orlesian rule,” he reminded them.  “Do you not think they will see it as an opportunity to try to reclaim what they once held?  I would not have my son responsible for another Orlesian occupation and rule that could have been prevented!”_

_“I would like to see them try!” Loghain muttered darkly._

_Bryce shook his head this time.  “I will gladly support Cailan in any way possible,” he agreed, turning the discussion back to the point at hand, “but I cannot -”_

_“Please, Bryce.”  Bryce’s eyes closed against the plea.  There was real emotion behind the king’s voice, the like of which Bryce had not heard since the days of fighting to reclaim the throne from the Orlesians.  “I need to know that should anything happen in my absence, the country will have a capable leader at the helm.”_

_“This … what you ask is treason, Maric!” Bryce insisted._

_Maric burst out laughing.  “You are well respected among the Bannorn,” he said a moment later as the amusement died down.  “There are already rumors in the wind that, when the time comes, some of them would prefer you over my son, for the reasons I have already given.”_

_Bryce gaped at the king.  “What?”_

_“I have heard no such rumors!” Loghain snarled._

_“Then you do not have the right sources,” Maric replied, clasping his hand to Loghain’s shoulder.  “My point is this - the other nobles are not against the idea.  As an alternative to my son, you are the best choice.  You are a capable ruler of your lands, you are fair and just, and you have a line of succession already in place.  Please, Bryce, give me your word that if something untoward happens, you will do this one thing for me!”_

_Loghain growled and pulled away from Maric’s touch, turning his back towards him.  Bryce could not blame the man for his reaction: his daughter’s eyes had been set upon the throne ever since she and Cailan had been formally betrothed.  “Maric ….” he tried to protest one last time._

_“Chances are, nothing will ever come of it,” Maric said, “but I need to know that if something DID happen, the country would not become vulnerable to attack - from without or within.”  He sighed and turned towards Loghain whose back remained facing him.  “And I need your promise as well, Loghain.  That if the worst did happen, you would support Bryce in his claim.”_

_“But it isn’t my claim!” Bryce insisted again._

_“That would not be looking after my daughter’s best interests,” Loghain muttered._

_“Whose interests are more important?” Maric asked.  “Anora’s or the country’s?”  Turning back to Bryce, he added, “What is it you’ve told me in the past, Bryce?  ‘Couslands always do their duty?’”_

_A sinking feeling began in the area of Bryce’s chest and began to spread, slowly, throughout his torso.  He shuddered for a moment, his mouth opening in another attempt to protest, but no words escaped.  Of all the arguments the king could have used to get his agreement, Maric managed to find the one that Bryce could not counter._

_“Bryce?”_

_“You … you have my word.”  Bryce’s voice was raspy, barely audible over the sounds of the waves and wind, but he saw Maric nod, lips curving upwards as he did so._

_“Loghain?”_

_Bryce rolled his shoulders back and straightened in an attempt to regain control.  In all honesty, he had as much strength as a bowl of jelly just then.  His eyes drifted over towards Loghain, watching him closely as well.  Despite having his doubts still about the possibilities of this plan ever coming to fruition even if the situation arose, Bryce knew good and well it would never have a chance unless Loghain agreed, too._

_“You are selling your son short,” Loghain argued.  “And your mother, Maker rest her soul -”_

_“My son and I have discussed this,” Maric insisted while letting the rest go unanswered.  “We both agree the country comes first, not the Theirin line.”_

_Loghain spun around on his heel and Bryce noticed a dark look in his eyes as they found the king’s.  “You know there are other options,” he insisted._

_“No.”  The king’s voice came out flat, sharp and clearly ending any further protest._

_Bryce blinked, sensing there was something more to this discussion than what had been stated so far, but neither man was giving him the clues he needed to figure it out.  A moment later, Loghain sighed and it almost seemed to Bryce that his shoulders sagged in defeat.  “You have my word,” he grumbled._

_Maric turned back to Bryce, a smile widening across his features.  “There, you see?  Now everything is as it should be.”_

_As Maric began to continue the walk along the cliffs, Bryce hesitated one moment longer, his eyes connecting with Loghain’s.  Bryce could clearly see the inner conflict there and wondered just what would happen if and when the time came.  Neither of them would go back on their word to the king - Bryce knew that much - but beyond that …?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since coming across the reference in game to Bryce Cousland having had the potential to become the King instead of Cailan, the idea of writing up a 'what if' story where Bryce became king instead has poked at my brain. While the exact way of it coming about has shifted and changed in my head over the years, I firmly believe that the initial idea would have begun with Maric, Loghain and Bryce, and that there would have been a great deal of reluctance (for varying reasons, some of which are very obvious) by both Loghain and Bryce to the idea.


End file.
